


Irrémédiable

by SilentWitness



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: A LOT of research, Brotherhood, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Comfort, End of Second Season, Family, Feels, Friendship, Friendship between Louis and d'Artagnan, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Hurt d'Artagnan, Overly formal writing style, Permanent Injury, Realistic portrayal of 17th century medicine, Somewhat Graphic portrayal of injury/wound/treatment, Way too much research than needed, d'Artagnan Whump, no really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-11-08 07:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11076846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWitness/pseuds/SilentWitness
Summary: Irrémédiable - (adj) Impossible to cure or put right.A Musketeer's vow is to serve his king and France, even if it may mean his death.d'Artagnan knows the risks of his life as a soldier.  He would die for his king.  Yet when it is not death that fells him, but injury, what will it mean for his future, and for his family?





	1. le jour de la revanche

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> I have long enjoyed reading the wonderful fanfiction for The Musketeers. Along the way I have read so many great stories that feature one or more of our heroes suffering from a severely traumatic injury and recovering perfectly fine to fight again. As wonderful as that is, in many cases even modern-day medicine could not fully cure the injury. So I began to wonder just how 17th century medicine would actually handle a traumatic injury, and how someone who suffered from permanent debilitating effects might get on.
> 
> This story explores that concept. I can't keep from doing a shocking amount of research in the writing of it. I will try not to bore you all with the details, but it can't be helped. You'll see footnotes here and there with some extra information. These footnotes will not be necessary to the events in the story, so you don't have to stop reading and scroll to the bottom and back up again if you don't wish to.
> 
> Also, I've included a bit of French here and there. I'm not a native speaker, so I apologize if there are inaccuracies in the translation. The French is in italics with the translation beside it.
> 
> Despite the research, this is a _story_ first and foremost, meant for entertainment. It will have action, sorrow, love, angst, comfort, etc. I hope that you all enjoy it!
> 
> It is set just after the second season. And as much as I adore ( _adore_ ) the books, for the purposes of this story, I've tried to stick pretty closely to the show's events.

Among the palace servants, it was coming to be known as _le jour de la revanche_ , the day of revenge.

Rochefort's malevolent influence over the king had finally ended, which delighted the servants, as Rochefort had never been good to any of them. Tréville was to them a popular councilor. His advice to the king was practical and sensible, and usually took into account the people, and not himself.

Though war with Spain had commenced, the general air around the king's holdings was more positive than it had been in years. It had seemed that finally there would be some peace for them.

That is why on _le jour de la revanche_ the attacks by Rochefort's old cohorts came as such a surprise, and did so much irreparable damage.

Louis himself had been in good spirits that day. 

After Rochefort's thrall over him had ended, he found himself in a depression almost as deep as when Cardinal Richelieu had died and left him alone and vulnerable to a madman's influence. He did not understand how he, King of all France, could have been so naive as to trust an obvious Spanish spy.

Additionally, he strongly suspected Rochefort's accusation of a tryst between Anne and the Musketeer Aramis resulting in his dear son Louis-Dieudonné's birth to be true. Internally, Louis raged at the injustice. By his seed, Anne had had four babies that died before they even made it from the womb,* yet one night of infidelity saw the creation of a perfect, living baby boy. Louis could have continued in his rage over this betrayal, but what would that have accomplished? Louis would be seen as weak, unable to sire his own heir, nor able to satisfy the desires of his wife. That could not be; a king must be seen as strong and capable. Yes, the musketeer would have been executed, but so then would his wife and the baby. The child, though innocent in all respects, would have to be destroyed or locked away forever, in case one day he might challenge the claims of a true heir. The child, whom Louis had held after his birth and stared into wide, helpless, trusting eyes; who loved him unconditionally as his father; who was perhaps the only person on the earth whom Louis could trust to be honest in all things.

No, he could not send the child - his son - to his death, or worse. And he could not truly bear to send his wife to hers. For all her infidelity, he had flaunted his own affair around the palace for months, making no secret of it, or of his favouritism of his mistress. She had been an exciting woman in all respects, and he had been utterly enthralled. Yet Anne stood beside him, silently enduring every slight to her person, every humiliation. She had strayed just once, and he many times. That her infidelity resulted in a child and his did not, should it cost her her life, and not he his?

And if she died, he would be alone again, and he simply couldn't bear it.

So Louis, for once, put his own feelings of hurt and betrayal aside, and pretended. He pretended that he believed that this was just another of Rochefort's many lies. He pretended that he was still in love with his wife, and that this mishap had merely brought them closer. He even turned around, looked the betrayer to the crown in the eye, and pretended to believe that the musketeer had been wronged as he'd apologized. The musketeer's gracious acceptance grated on the king, but he pretended otherwise.

He did not pretend at his joy in the baby, at his love for his son. His son, not Aramis's. It mattered not who had actually fathered the boy, himself or the interloper. Louis-Dieudonné was _his_ son, his heir. He would raise him, he would teach him. The baby would call Louis alone _père_.

But while Louis still had his wife, son and his new Minister of War who had always proved loyal, he was lonely. He felt wronged, betrayed, _tired_ , and he could tell no one. 

He remembered, almost fondly, the time he'd played at being an ordinary man instead of a king. The adventure had ended in the worst possible way. He spent days captured along with peasants, intended to be sold as a common galley slave. He was completely out of his depth, and stunned to learn that as a king he was not revered by the common people, but barely tolerated. Earning the trust and regard of a man he was captured with was gratifying, but it was more gratifying to bond with one of his musketeers. The boy was nearly his own age, and surprisingly easy to talk to. He seemed to understand him, and instead of scorn, responded with gentle empathy and fierce loyalty. He'd felt betrayed when his musketeer had refused to execute the man responsible for their capture. Louis had considered it a reward bestowed upon his protector, and the rejection of it had stung. Now, of course, Louis realized that the boy had responded with honour and courage, not taking the life of the man Louis had pardoned, yet not ever betraying the secrets Louis had entrusted to him, never straying from his duty to the crown.

In his loneliness, Louis had latched onto the thought of a companion close to his age whom he could confide in. That companion, he'd decided, would be the musketeer d'Artagnan. He was sure the boy would be happy to return from the front lines. After all, he was newly married to a woman he clearly loved beyond all things. As she was servant and confidant to Queen Anne, Louis was sure that her husband would happily become the same to his King.

So Louis had gone to Tréville with reports of rumours that there was a coup plotted against him, and he was in need of a guard he could trust. He insisted on a musketeer, and he preferred d'Artagnan, as he'd guarded him from danger before. Tréville had realized that bowing to his king's wishes on this would be of greater benefit than d'Artagnan's presence on the front lines. So, his mission against Spain barely begun, d'Artagnan was called back to Paris, and commissioned to be the king's personal guard.

His remaining brothers had grieved the loss of him at their sides, but sent him home with affection. He was their youngest and most impetuous. While they would miss his steadfast presence, they were also relieved that he would be out of immediate danger. They did not know that they would survive this war, but the thought that their _petit frère_ , their little brother, would survive gave them strength.

D'Artagnan had been upset at the thought of not being able to support and protect his brothers, but had secretly been pleased that he would be so quickly reunited with his new wife. Their union so turbulently fought for, it had been devastating to be parted so quickly.

Louis had gotten his wish. Once d'Artagnan was stationed at his side, the king had begun talking, sharing, asking his guard's opinions. Quite quickly, a rapport was established between them. D'Artagnan learned that Louis so dearly longed for a fleet of French ships, that he'd begun modernizing the port at Le Havre, and funneling money into creating a navy. He also learned that the queen was quite the equestrian, one of the few interests that both king and queen shared. One day, quite privately, Louis showed d'Artagnan his lute, which he'd learnt to play by the tender age of three. He was astonishingly good at the playing of it, and he confessed he loved music. He had the idea to compose a ballet about hunting.** 

"For," he said, "isn't it funny how blackbirds are solemn, then all of a sudden playful, then solemn again when they sense our presence? They dance about in the treetops, and dare us to catch them, and we bumble about in the attempt." He laughed, then said, "It shall be about you and I, _mon bon ami_ , out on the hunt in a simpler time."

That was how d'Artagnan found out that his king considered him a friend.

D'Artagnan was not opposed to the idea of becoming friends with the king, though he was quite startled by it. On his return, Louis had apologized for his actions regarding the pardoned criminal, and stated that he hoped that the Gascon could forgive him and be entrusted fully with the king's safety. D'Artagnan had responded that of course the king had his full loyalty unto death. The apology had been a point in favour of the king, but the king began to speak about himself and the queen, and his likes, dislikes and fears. In return, d'Artagnan found himself responding in kind. He'd begun truly enjoying the company of the king, and Louis had finally found his _confidente_. 

Tréville watched the friendship develop with approval. D'Artagnan was well liked around the palace, and the king's happiness at having a friend was evident. Of course, when the king was happy, life around him was easier. That d'Artagnan had proven his trustworthiness was a gift, an easement on Tréville's mind. He would be a sensible influence, guiding his king without treachery in his heart the way Richelieu and Rochefort had.

Five months passed. The friendship between the king and his guard grew and strengthened. The love between d'Artagnan and Constance cemented for they worked in close proximity and spent each night together. Even the relationship between the king and queen improved, as watching the newlyweds' joy in each other caused Louis and Anne to regard each other with fondness.

On an idyllically warm day, with green on trees, and bright blue skies, Louis looked around him with satisfaction. D'Artagnan, his friend, was standing at his king's side, both of them watching fondly as Anne and Constance sat upon soft carpets by a fountain in the Louvre's gardens, playing with Louis-Dieudonné, who had learned to crawl quite well, and was motoring around from blanket to grass, happily latching on to variously placed toys. Beside them, a fantastical picnic feast of cold game, eggs, fruits and sweets elaborately prepared was partially eaten.

Most of the seasoned Musketeers had been sent to the front lines in the war against Spain, but younger Musketeers and recruits stood about the palace grounds along with what was left of the Red Guard, guarding their royal family on their day out. Tréville was dealing with business elsewhere, but felt safe entrusting the welfare of the king and queen to the Musketeers, and especially to d'Artagnan.

Louis, for his part, was ecstatic that his rouse of a coup against him had worked out so cleverly. He had gotten everything he'd wanted out of his _petite tromperie_ , his small deception. He had no way of knowing that his little lie happened to be true.

The attack when it came, came without warning. Behind them, a portion of the palace suddenly exploded outwards, spraying debris everywhere. Louis found himself suddenly prone, d'Artagnan's body shielding him from flying stone and plaster. Dazedly he looked around, noticing red guards and young musketeers scrambling around, some running toward the shattered building, others towards him. Louis turned his gaze to the fountain and saw Anne beneath Constance being similarly shielded. Where... where was Louis-Dieudonné?

" _Mon fils!_ " Louis gasped out, " _Mon fils_ , my son!"

"Do not worry, majesty," d'Artagnan hurriedly reassured him, "Go with Achille and Grégoire. They will keep you safe. I will see to your family."

Louis had no time for thanks as he was pulled to his feet and pressed urgently away to shelter.

D'Artagnan dashed forwards, nearly barreling into his wife and the queen. The queen was on her feet now, looking stunned.

"Get her to safety," he ordered Constance, "there with the king."

"Dieudonné!" The queen cried, unwilling to leave without her son.

"Go!" D'Artagnan ordered again, "I shall find him."

At that moment, men with handkerchiefs covering their faces burst from the trees, at least a dozen of them, pistols and swords in hand. D'Artagnan noted absently that the musketeers had formed a circle of protection around the king and queen, while the red guard seemed to be trying to simultaneously engage the enemy and run in the other direction. D'Artagnan's thoughts halted as he brought his sword up to meet another's, just before it plunged itself into his chest. Twisting around, he managed to get behind his attacker, grabbing his gun arm and pointing it towards another of the ambushers. As it went off and the man fell, d'Artagnan plunged his own sword into the first's side and spun around, leaving the body to fall to the ground behind him.

Where was the child? Where was the dauphin?

There!

D'Artagnan spotted the royal baby underneath a bush nearby, face red and angry, about to scream. D'Artagnan had to get to him quickly. Absently he dispatched another attacker as he dashed towards the brush, scooping up the little prince.

Turning, d'Artagnan found himself face-to-face with another two men. Child on his hip, he was at a severe disadvantage. He fought them off with all he had, finding a skill with his blade that he'd never found before, as he fought to protect the precious life in his arms. Dispatching one, the other found a weak spot, blade catching the shoulder of d'Artagnan's sword arm and ripping it open. D'Artagnan felt his arm go white with pain for a moment, but he did not drop his sword, instead bringing it up to find a home in his attacker's belly. 

The sudden presence at his side startled him so that he almost ran his wife through, before sighing in relief and handing the dauphin to her. "Take him," he gasped, "Go quickly."

She nodded, and d'Artagnan had never in his life been so overwhelmed with appreciation for a woman's courage and fortitude.

"I love you!" he called to her as she turned away. Her smile was quick and genuine as she disappeared with the dauphin.

The fountain exploded beside him, knocking d'Artagnan to his knees. Dazed, but battle senses engaged, he brought up his sword in time to block an overhead attack. Fending the man off, he stumbled to his feet and gained enough ground to pull his pistol from its holster and fire, killing the attacker. Bending down to grab the dead man's gun, he turned to find himself surrounded. The bandits had realized who the real threat here was, and were converging on him to take him out and get to the king.

Tréville arrived with backups from the garrison - slightly more seasoned men than the ones that had been stationed at the palace that day. They entered the fight and evened the odds.

Battle raging around them, d'Artagnan found himself struggling to concentrate as he was converged upon. _This does not bode well_ , he thought dully, as he just barely managed to avoid getting skewered. His reaction time was slowing, and that meant he must have a severe injury, something more than just a gashed arm. 

There were still so many to fight, and d'Artagnan was becoming overwhelmed.

Three of the newly arrived Musketeers came to d'Artagnan's aid, thinning the crowd around him. Gratefully, d'Artagnan took a spare moment to breathe and seek out the royal family and his wife in hopes they were safe. A glance saw them surrounded by young Musketeers, unharmed.

D'Artagnan smiled in relief, meeting his wife's eyes for a moment - just before her expression changed to one of fear and horror, and a sharp blow to the back of his head brought darkness down around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Though not mentioned in the show, this is historical fact. Anne of Austria had four stillborn children from 1619 to 1631 before finally giving birth to the future Louis XIV in 1638. Believing his birth a miracle, he was named _Dieudonné_ meaning God-given. There is no historical evidence that he was not Louis XIII's son, especially considering the open disdain Anne of Austria carried for her son's many affairs, and Louis XIII was considered to be unusually loyal to his marriage vows.
> 
> **All of these things about Louis and Anne are true. Louis XIII really did help compose music for, dance in, and design costumes for a ballet about hunting blackbirds. It was called Ballet de la Merlaison and featured the king himself dressed in various disguises, thwarting the hunt of the birds. In _The Three Musketeers_ , the ballet de la Merlaison was performed at the ball. The ballet even contains an act entitled "Les Gascons" which you can watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJhhG1zRHdw 
> 
> Though all of the original choreography and some of the original music was lost, the modern choreographer went to great lengths to stay true to the dancing style of the era and include the fancy and creativity that was depicted in accounts of the original performance. Even though the king in the ballet is likely the one dressed as a butterfly lurking in the background, could you not instead see Louis picturing himself and d'Artagnan as best friends, playfully out to capture some blackbirds?
> 
>  
> 
> So if you are eagle-eyed, you might have noticed that this sound suspiciously close to a prompt found here: http://elenduen.dreamwidth.org/391.html?thread=39047#cmt39047 
> 
> Yup, I'm filling it. But actually, I was also the one who posted the prompt. I'm a slow writer with some severe health limitations, so I was hoping to see it filled. But the idea would not let me go, and I just couldn't help but start this. I have a few chapters built up, so I hope that I won't take as long with this story as I have my others. 
> 
> BUT if anyone wants to also fill the prompt, please feel free. I really would love to see other interpretations.
> 
> Also, apologies for my overly formal writing style with this. It just happened.


	2. Dans le soin des experts médicaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan's injuries are revealed, and the fight for his life begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> I am sorry it has taken me so long to update. Life is not always kind. But hopefully future chapters will come more quickly.
> 
> There is a brief, graphic description of d'Artagnan's injuries, but I have tried not to go overboard. I should not need to go into great detail in the future.
> 
> Once again, I am not a native French speaker, so I apologize for any errors in the French I've included. I've provided the English translation just beside the phrases.

Constance watched with pride as her husband of less than a year fought off an attack that none of them had been ready for. He'd managed to get all of them to safety, fighting valiantly one-armed whilst holding the dauphin until she could relieve him of the child. Even the fountain exploding behind him did little to slow him down as he defended their lives.

She saw red bloom on his clothes and knew she would be hovering anxiously as he was patched up later, but as he kept fighting skillfully, occasionally seeking her out to make sure she and the royal family were well, she was sure that his injuries would not be life-threatening.

Tréville arrived with musketeers from the garrison, and Constance breathed a sigh of relief. Surely this disaster of a day would now come to an end, and she could fuss over d'Artagnan in private.

She held her breath as d'Artagnan was surrounded by most of the remaining bandits seeking to eliminate their greatest threat. Musketeers dashed to d'Artagnan's aid, and it seemed this battle would at last be finished and their enemies defeated.

D'Artagnan must have been thinking the same, as he paused to meet her eyes, a twinkle in his, and the beginnings of a victorious smile.

Constance fair grinned at her husband in pride before she noticed a figure sneaking up behind him. She had no time to but realize the danger to his person, when the figure reared up, large chunk of the decimated fountain raised high before it was brought down with great force on d'Artagnan's head.

D'Artagnan dropped like a stone.

Beside her, the queen gasped in horror, and the king let out a roar of protest. It was moments before Constance became conscious that she herself was screaming and sobbing, struggling to break free of the grip of the young musketeer holding her back away from the danger. 

D'Artagnan's attacker was dispatched immediately, and the few remaining bandits finally subdued.

Tréville hurried to kneel at the side of his fallen soldier, hiding d'Artagnan's body from Constance's view. Louis frantically ordered anyone and everyone to fetch the royal physicians. Anne held Louis-Dieudonné close, gripping him tightly, as if suddenly realizing just what his fate could have been that day.

The first to respond to the king's orders were the physicians' apprentices. The four hurried forwards in their simple black robes to examine the fallen Musketeer their king was so taken with. The lad had many injuries, the majority of them flesh wounds from a blade, still bleeding freely. The worst and most concerning, though, a gaping head wound. The blow to his head had shattered a portion of the young man's skull, causing the back of his head to take a slightly concave shape, giving way to an open wound.

If there was to be any chance of saving him, it would not be here. He would need to be moved inside to a room where he could be properly looked after.

And so he was, along with the other wounded, quickly transported into the palace, and settled, awaiting the arrival of the king's two resident physicians.

Long moments passed before the two swept inside, strutting proudly in their long black cassocks with their turned down collars and cuffs and their wide brimmed hats, noses firmly in the air. They had come straight from the Faculties of Medicine at Montpellier - as had their predecessor, Jean Héroard*, the king's personal physician when he was an _enfant_. Unlike Héroard, however, these physicians from very high ranking families showed little interest in their art outside of the classroom, and had heretofore left the practice of it to their apprentices. They both basked in the great honour of personal service to the king, and hoped to grow in fame by publishing medical texts based around the royal family.

Their impeccable recommendations had gotten them the positions, yet faced with this life threatening wound and the king's order that they save the Musketeer at all costs, they found themselves in the precarious position of not actually knowing how to treat their patient.

They dispersed their apprentices to care for the other wounded, then thoughtfully circled the body laid before them, speaking to each other medical terms in Latin. At length they decided the boy's hair must be shorn, so as to get a better look at the wound. An apprentice was already standing by with the instruments needed, and was immediately tasked by the physicians to do so. 

Hair removed, the physicians circled the body a second time, pausing as they passed his head to peer into the wound and mutter in Latin.

Then was decided they would need the apothecary. An apprentice was dispatched to fetch the royal medical man, and returned in haste, man and herbal remedies in tow. 

Though the apothecary was dressed similarly to the king's physicians, unlike those esteemed men of learning, he had a great knowledge of his craft. He approached cautiously, mind already drifting to which recipes could be made quickly enough to do any good on the numerous wounds the prone young man before him sported.

Upon seeing the gaping head wound, however, he let out a curse as his mind went blank.

He'd been practicing for many years, but had to admit he'd never seen a wound such as this one. He was certain the lad was not long for this world.

"He's a favourite of the king," one of the apprentices whispered to him, "His majesty is furious. We must do what we can to keep him alive, quickly."

The apothecary knew exactly what this meant. If the boy should die, _Malheur à tous_! Woe to them all!

There was little he could do for the break in the skull - such a wound must heal on its own if it would. But he could cover it with a poultice, something that just might prevent infection, and give the lad a fighting chance.

As it was, he had a potion ready that might be used: sage for blood flow, willow for the pain, a touch of mandrake to soothe the patient into sleep, the slime of a snail and dragon's blood for the healing of the wound.** 

Quickly, the apothecary made up poultices, and he and the apprentices carefully applied them to d'Artagnan's many wounds, including his grievous head wound. Having done all they could, they then turned to finish caring for the other wounded, while the king's personal physicians stood back and watched.

Finally, the apothecary retired to mix up another recipe that had proven effective for centuries: leek and garlic, pounded together with equal parts wine and bull's bile. It would need several days in a brass pot to become effective, so it needed to be mixed up immediately.**

Whilst the medical team had been frantically working on the wounded, queen Anne did her best to keep Constance occupied elsewhere, not wanting her friend to be exposed to the grisly scene. The woman's heartbroken, worried presence would not have helped those tasked with saving her husband's life - especially as they were already dealing with an impatient, irate king, who would not be moved.

The king did know better than to get in the way, but his was a felt presence in the room. He was visibly upset as he watched the proceedings - first due to worry for his guard, but then due to increasing anger at the ineffectiveness of his personal physicians. Why, other than sending for the apothecary, the two had done nothing of note, while their apprentices had neatly addressed the many wounds not only on his friend, but on the other men that had been injured protecting their royal family.

This would not do. Louis seethed with barely contained anger, only just restraining himself from sacking them right then and sending them packing; his concern for d'Artagnan the only thing holding him back. He had been around learned medical men his whole life, and knew they should be capable of so much more than his current employs seemed to be. They should have known what to do, and if his friend died this day, _ils prendraient bientôt leurs jambes au cou_ , they would soon be running for their lives.

But d'Artagnan did not die. When they were all done, one apprentice stayed to monitor the wounded, while everyone else filtered out. They left d'Artagnan situated as comfortably as possible on the bed, wounds wrapped as best could be expected.

Louis drew forward and took the young man's hand in his, watching him breathe steadily, praying that each breath would not be the last. Presently he sent for the lad's wife, who arrived weeping and took his place at her husband's side. 

Now they would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jean Héroard was the first physician to Louis XIII as a child, and died in 1628. He famously kept a journal of the dauphin's daily life and health regime.
> 
> **These ingredients are really what an apothecary of the time would use. Recent studies show that they all have healing properties, and would have been effective treatments - to a point. Dragon's blood, of course, was not real blood, but the red sap of a tree found in subtropical countries which has antiseptic, antibiotic, anti-viral and wound-healing properties. This ingredient was available to 17th century medicine, but would have been limited to the very rich. I'm certain king Louis would have been able to foot the bill. 
> 
> **The second recipe - leek/garlic/wine/bull's gall (bile) - was recently tested for effectiveness by researchers attempting to find new medicine to combat increasingly antibiotic-resistant ailments. Not only were its antibiotic properties excellent, it is being considered today for a treatment for MRSA - a superbug that has been notoriously resistant to other antibiotics. (http://www.popsci.com/ancient-medical-remedy-works-against-modern-resistant-bacteria) One note for accuracy's sake: I tried to find apothecary recipes that would have been available in the 17th century. This certainly would have been available, but being about seven centuries old at that time, I can't be sure whether they would actually have used it, or felt the recipe too out of date. Still, it was too good for me to pass up using.
> 
> 17th century physicians really did mainly come from elite families and attended prestigious colleges to attain their titles. Documents show, however, that many of these men did very little in practice-their apprentices usually doing the real work.
> 
> At this time in history, great strides were being made in the search for the science behind healing-but by just a few men, and their theories contradicted most of the accepted practices of the day. An imbalance of the four humours were still the prevailing "truth" of whatever was wrong in the body, and the treatment you might receive for an ailment would differ greatly from physician to physician, and because germs were completely unknown, even the most effective treatments could still be deadly when performed by unwashed tools.
> 
> So while the 17th century did eventually see the invention of both the microscope and thermometer, a greater understanding of how blood effects the body, and more, the vast majority of accepted medical treatments were dangerously inadequate, and recovery often hung on chance and a prayer.


End file.
